


Compassion

by Lipstickcat



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 01:47:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4647651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lipstickcat/pseuds/Lipstickcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A memory from Roman's childhood</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compassion

There had been this summer. He must have been about eleven, and he'd gone walking with Shelley, down the back of the house leading to the woods. The front lawns were all manicured and kept presentable, but the back of the house had always been more for the servants back in the day when the house had more than the couple of staff that floated in and out now. The path was uneven, weeds sprouting up and around, untended fruit trees were scattered around. 

The sun was hot and Roman wore sunglasses, Shelley a big wide brimmed hat. Not one of those pretty things that young ladies had that flopped everywhere, but a hard straw weave, practical and ridged. 

They passed through a cloud of flying insects. Hornets or wasps, maybe, Roman can't even remember any longer, he just remembers that they were big and slow and he wasn't afraid of being stung. 

It must have been August, maybe a weekend, or just before school was restarting. The stony path was littered with them, crawling or on their backs, thin black legs pawing the air in slow motion. Looking back now, he guesses that they were drunk, high on fermented apple and pears dropped from the trees and left in the sun. 

He remembers clearly the look that Shelley gave him. She didn't have her phone back then, but he understood her anyway. She felt for them and wanted him to end the suffering she perceived them to be in. He didn't know any better, couldn't tell her that they were probably pretty fucking happy. He didn't know, and he didn't know what he could do to stop them hurting. 

Except. 

He stomped on one. It crunched under his foot. He saw Shelley recoil. 

And he thought that he could feel the moment it's life shut off; like he had squeezed it's soul out and it burst through it's tough exoskeleton and then dispersed like a puff of fine powder into the air. 

Shelley glowed. Her face was sad, but she glowed for him. She thought that he'd done right, that he'd ended suffering. She gestured to the next one. 

He spent that hot afternoon stomping on every single insect that Shelley pointed to. He did it for her, in some twisted way to make her happy. He'd never realised that happiness and sadness could exist at the same time. He was drenched with sweat by the time they turned back home in silence. 

He still remembers it now. He remembers feeling every single life that he took. Sometimes he thinks about it to help keep the hunger quiet.


End file.
